


Who Says I Can't Inspire

by SparrowFlight246



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family, Foster Care, Foster fic with a twist, Gen, I'll add more characters as they appear - Freeform, I'll add more tags later, Lams - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowFlight246/pseuds/SparrowFlight246
Summary: John Laurens never expected to be a father, foster or otherwise, or for his life to change so dramatically by a scrappy kid on his doorstep, or for him and his husband to make a family out of two foster children and a late night phone call.But then a foster kid named Philip walked into their lives, and John was taken by surprise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have so much I should be doing, and instead I wrote this. My hands slipped on the keyboard.
> 
> This is just a new idea of mine, so drop me a comment if you'd like to see it be continued. Title is from the workshop version of Right Hand Man.
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy!

The call that started it all came late and unexpected, a shrill ringing shattering the peaceful silence of night and jerking John Laurens out of his light doze so fast he nearly pitched his sketchbook off his lap.

Lurching into lucidity, John was immediately fumbling for the offending device. He reached for his phone blindly for where it was buzzing on the edge of Alex’s desk without bothering to get out of his armchair a few feet away, instantly answering it for the sole reason of quieting its ringing. “Hello?” he said hoarsely, stifling a yawn as he sank back down into his chair, wondering vaguely what time it was and how long he’d been asleep for with a clumsy hand attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. The sky was dark outside the window and a single desk lamp lit the small room with a dim glow, so John guessed it had been quite a few hours.

“Is this Alexander Hamilton speaking?” a hurried, female voice demanded over the phone, sounding as if she was in a very big rush and didn’t have a second to waste.

John then realized the phone in his hand was actually not his, pulling it away from his face groggily to look at the simple black case (very different from the somewhat immature but nonetheless shameless turtles his own phone sported) and momentarily grimace at his mistake. But, now looking at the actual owner of the device, he figured the fact he answered it was probably for the best. Alex was currently drooling over his notes for his newest essay, slumped over asleep on his desk and dead to the world. Nothing could rouse him now. 

John returned the phone to his ear. “Sure.”

“This is Lucy Knox, from Child Protective Services. We have a child in need of an emergency placement.”

And with those two simple sentences, John’s drowsy, disjointed thoughts stuttered to a stop. 

He sat up in his chair, barely registering it when his sketchbook slipped onto the ground with a thud. “Emergency placement?” he repeated, suddenly awake. The whole fostering thing was kind of a new thing for him and Alex, something they’d both always wanted to do but had only actually gone through with recently. This was the first call they’d gotten even mentioning a placement of any kind. “What, for tonight?” 

The social worker sounded breathless when she responded, rustling papers audible over the line. “Yes, tonight. I’m afraid that’s where the emergency part comes into play.”

John looked at Alex, who remained fast asleep over the desk with his hand still posed on the keyboard of his dark screened computer. His glasses were shoved halfway up his face by the surface of the desk, dark hair unruly and pooling on his notes, and despite the fact that John absolutely hated to wake him up when the poor guy was lucky to get in a few good hours of sleep in a week, he wasn’t going to make any decisions like this without Alex’s input. “Uh, hold on for just a sec, then.”

Carefully, John placed a well aimed kick to Alex’s ankle, having to stretch out his leg to reach him and adding some more, increasingly forceful prodding when the first jab proved ineffective. But, with one last exceptionally sharp dig to Alex’s shin, his husband’s head finally snapped up from the desk, glasses askew and eyes wild at the unexpected wake up call. 

“CPS,” John was quick to mutter under his breath, covering the speaker of his phone with one hand. Alex’s pissed off confusion at being woken up so abruptly quickly faded as understanding dawned in his eyes, sitting up and fixing his glasses as his expression grew attentive. 

Mrs. Knox’s voice was impatient and somewhat exasperated when she spoke again, sounding as if she needed this call to go far faster than the pace it was currently inching along at. “Mr. Hamilton, I don’t mean to rush you, but this is seriously an urgent situation- we need to know if you can take in this child, _now,_ please-”

“Woah, er, hold up a minute here,” John pushed back, uncovering the speaker again. Although his first, gut response was to immediately agree to the woman’s requests and accept the poor kid that was being offered around like a piece of prime meat instead of a _child_ , he knew this was a decision that required some variation of actual thought. He instinctively looked at Alex. Alex was better at rationalizing. He’d know what to do.

Immediately, his husband understood the silent question John was posing. “Get more information,” Alex instructed softly, predictably, spinning in his desk chair to face John and beginning to scrape his mussed hair back into a haphazard but sturdy bun at the back of his head, like he did when he was thinking fast. In his slept-in jeans and faded band t-shirt, he meant business. “See what we’re dealing with here.”

But before John could ask about the details, Mrs. Knox had already started talking again, rushing to get out all the information before John could cut her off. 

“He’s coming from a neglect and abuse case from a former foster home. He’d only be staying with you for tonight, or maybe for a few days at the most, just until we can find a more permanent home for him. He just needs a safe place to sleep tonight, that’s all, and then we’ll find him a long-term placement, and he’ll be completely off your hands.” Her voice was desperate, edging on pleading. 

However, John’s mind stuttered to a stop right at the beginning of the information. “Woah, wait. Neglect and abuse case?” he echoed, looking at Alex. However, with Alex’s own experience with the system, the man looked grieved but far from surprised, his lips thin and brow low over his dark eyes, face shadowed by the dim lamp light. John had known about the horrors of the system, from both his own research and Alex’s stories, but that was a completely different thing than hearing first hand that a child (a _child_ ) was unsafe in a home that was meant to be a haven. A completely different thing entirely. “What the hell happened to this kid?” 

“Physically, he’s okay,” she was fast to reassure, as if the heart-wrenching details of the boy’s case might scare John and Alex away. “The abuse wasn’t centered on him, so aside from being dehydrated and slightly malnourished, he’s okay. He won’t be any extra trouble for you with medical issues, really.”

Physically, she had said.

John didn’t even want to think about how this poor kid was doing mentally.

John took a breath, shaking his head slightly. His mind mulled over the information, still looking at Alex. Their grave expressions mirrored each other’s, dark and brooding, in the dim golden lighting of the office. “How old is he?” he asked, voice flat. 

“Philip will turn fifteen next month.”

John blew out the breath, snagging his bottom lip with his teeth to keep himself grounded, pressing his free hand down on the armrest of his chair.

Fifteen next month. That meant he was fourteen now.

Fourteen.

The kid was only fourteen.

Fourteen, and being pulled from a foster home after being neglected and abused by a random family for who knows how long. Fourteen, and being handed off to another random family, one he was unfamiliar with and had no way of knowing if they would be like the last, or worse. Fourteen, and already having survived far too much for his young age. _Fourteen._

They couldn’t just leave this kid.

John’s gaze stilled on Alex’s with the phone still clenched in his hand, knowing every last thought he had on what they should do was written in his expression and that his husband would have no problem understanding all of them. 

Alex stared back and nodded once, his jaw set and dark eyes determined behind his glasses.

“We’ll take him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex prepare, and then the doorbell rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here’s the second chapter! 
> 
> Not sure how long this work will be at this point, but I do have a pretty solid plot line for it now, so there will likely be quite a bit more of the story. I’m looking forward to it, actually! 
> 
> Also, I listened to How to Save a Life by the Fray, Between the Raindrops by Lifehouse, and Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney as I wrote this, in case you’re into the music aspect of the writing process. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy, and thanks so much for reading!

It took maybe a few seconds after John hung up the phone for the reality to what was about to happen to sink in. 

A kid. They were getting their first foster kid, an emergency placement, and they were getting him _tonight._

John stared at the phone in his hand in stunned, distantly surprised bewilderment for a long, quiet minute, the dark screen suddenly foreboding. Alex sat back in his desk chair, fingers steepling as he took a measured breath, his expression already turning to intensely, broodingly thoughtful as his mind mulled over the information. For a moment, both were silent in the quiet space of the small office, slowly soaking in what had just happened and whatever the hell was going to happen next.

“Shit,” John suddenly uttered, his gaze snapping to look at his husband. “We still need to set up the spare room.”

Alex’s eyes widened fractionally behind his glasses. “Shit,” he agreed bluntly. 

Within an instant, both men had scrambled up from their seats and launched into action. John had no idea how much time they had before the kid and his social worker arrived, but he was sure that the house was nowhere near ready for a new addition. They really hadn’t had company besides Laf and Herc in the past month and therefore had very little reason and overall very little time to spend countless hours on cleaning. But, even aside from routine tidying up, they didn’t even have sheets on the spare bed. 

Or towels in the guest bathroom, or shampoo at the ready, or even more than a couple of boxes of probably stale cereal and maybe two potentially prehistoric apples in means of food in the house at the moment, John realized with a growing concern for their abilities to think ahead. 

So, in an attempt to do everything they could in the short amount of time they would have to prepare, John found himself making a stop at the linen closet before running upstairs to start prepping the spare room. Alex whipped past him in the opposite direction, arms full of towels and mouth full of colorful swears when he nearly tripped on his way to the bathroom, just barely catching himself and only just managing to keep the stack of towels from toppling to their doom.

The world was still midnight black through the windows, and Alex and John flicked on light switches as they passed them, leaving a trail of light behind them as they went. They sped through tasks as quickly as they could, shouting reminders to each other of the list of things they still had to do (such as wiping down the kitchen counters and stuffing the overflowing and honestly quite traumatizing Laundry Basket of Horror into a closet, best not terrify the poor kid before he got in past the doorway), asking if they ever did ending up getting the backup few sets of clothes for their future foster kids like they’d talked about (they didn’t), questioning whether or not they’d cleaned the guest room toilet in the past three months (John was fairly certain they had) and trying to remember everything they were undoubtedly forgetting.

But as John smoothed the comforter over the bed of the spare room, his hands rushing to run over the soft material while still striving to erase every wrinkle, the reality of what they were doing, what was about to happen, finally truly caught up with him. 

And, damn, he didn’t know what they hell they were thinking with doing this.

He and Alex weren’t parents. For god’s sake, they had just barely figured out the world for themselves yet. All they did was get a couple of forms, hand the trigger happy Alex a pen, and suddenly they were getting a kid. A kind of damaged kid, too, if the social worker was to be believed, and that introduced on a whole new layer of issues they wouldn’t know how to fix. 

Both John and Alex had been wanting to do this for years, but just the act of wanting definitely wasn’t enough to prepare them for actually becoming foster parents. 

Holy shit, they were becoming _foster parents._

John sank down in the accent chair positioned in the corner of the room, suddenly feeling weak in the knees. Foster parents. A kid, a poor kid who needed their help, was coming to live with them. And sure, it was an emergency placement that the social worker claimed would be for just a night or two, but John knew better- these could last for a week or more, and an ‘emergency placement’ could very quickly turn into a long term stay. The reality of the situation was overwhelming and stifling, crashing over John like a wave. 

Hands clasped between his knees with his elbows on his thighs, John took a deep breath as he tried to steady himself. There was so much he still needed to do, but he really just needed a minute to think this over and soak it in, then he’d keep moving. Just one minute. 

“Hey, babe? Did you remember to buy a new package of sponges?”

John looked up, distantly realizing with a resigned acceptance that his moment was over already. “Look under the sink!” he called back, and a moment later, Alex shouted his thanks, apparently having found what he was looking for. 

Pressing his hands to his thighs to steady them, John pushed himself up from the chair, attempting to press down his worries and instead focusing on the task at hand. His gaze flickered over the room one more time, checking it for any imperfections. Although the room, with its soft greens and remarkably boring decorations, probably could have been better suited to a teenage boy, John knew it would work for now. Blowing out one more slow breath, he tightened his ponytail, straightened his shirt, and turned for the door. 

Just as he did, the doorbell rang. 

His heart missing a beat and his stomach erupting with renewed nerves, John picked up the pace as he hurried downstairs. “Did you get the laundry basket?” he called to Alex as he hit the first floor, suddenly breathless. He rounded into the kitchen to find Alex tossing the sponge he’d been holding into the sink, likely having just finished wiping down the counter. 

“Old Horror is safely in the closet,” Alex confirmed. His hoodie sleeves were rolled up to his elbows from cleaning, old glasses still perched nose, but he looked battle ready regardless.

“Okay, great. That’s good.”

Coming around the island to join John in the doorway of the kitchen, Alex threw his husband a tired but anticipatingly look. “So. We ready for this?” he asked, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. 

“As we’ll ever be,” John responded, a flare of nervous excitement sparking in his stomach at the words. 

Alex grinned. “Let’s do this.”

John could practically hear his own heartbeat as they walked up to the front door. When they reached the welcome mat, Alex caught his hand, squeezing it once reassuringly before releasing. And then, before John could do more than blink, Alex reached out and pulled the door open. 

John’s gaze instantly locked upon the teenage boy standing on their doorstep, staring him down in the dim glow of the porch light. 

Jesus, he was so small. 

The social worker, Lucy Knox, stood beside him, tall and formidable, with her hand settled on Philip’s shoulder. In her other hand was a thick folder, her delicate fingers fixed around the manilla file. She wore a severe hairstyle and a stern but gentle expression, her features sharp, her eyes exhausted. She gave a tight smile to John and Alex, pulling away from the boy to extend her hand to them in greeting. “Good evening,” she said as she shook their hands.

“Hi there,” Alex returned, instantly composed and remarkably professional for standing there in a pair of mismatched socks with his dirty hair in a man bun. He moved aside to open up the doorway as John did the same, inviting the two of them in. 

Mrs. Knox and Philip stepped into the house, her hand on his shoulder, pressing him forward in a way that was poorly disguised. The kid stumbled in through the door, attempting to shake her hand off but only succeeding in Mrs. Knox tightening her grip. “He’s a little shy,” she said stiffly in way of apology as Alex closed the door behind them, Philip scowling at her in response. 

Swamped by a coat that looked like it had certainly seen certain days, the kid was maybe Alex’s height or a touch taller, and visibly thin to the point of concern. His wildly curly brown hair was a good few inches shorter than John’s, surrounding his tan, freckled face with a halo of uncontrolled frizz. As John’s focus flickered over him, Philip locked onto his gaze with hard hazel eyes, not looking away before John broke eye contact. 

John knew the kid was trying to intimidate them. Everything from his sharp expression to his challenging gestures read his attempts to come across as menacing. But, really, John got the idea that the aggression was forced, as if it wasn’t what the boy was truly like at all. 

“This is Philip,” Mrs. Knox explained needlessly, offering a tight smile that seemed to strain her face.

Alex’s gaze settled upon the boy, an easy smile on his lips and eyes soft. “Hello, Philip,” he said warmly. “I’m Alex, and my husband here is John.”

“Hi,” John said softly. His eyes met Philip’s, and he smiled as well, as open and welcoming as he could be. Now that it was actually happening and the action they had been preparing for was underway, his nerves were just beginning to ease up, slowly and gradually, probably in the distraction of the situation at hand. “We’re really glad to have you here.”

If John didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the kid snorted under his breath in response to that sentiment. 

Mrs. Knox squeezed Philip’s shoulder, a little harder than probably necessary but pointed in it’s firmness. “Say hello, Philip,” she urged. 

“Hey,” the kid muttered, his voice low and hoarse. 

“Well, John, Alex, I have a few forms you need to fill out, if that’s alright,” Mrs. Knox was fast to continue, not letting the silence linger. 

Alex took over from there, gesturing the two further into the house and accepting the forms Mrs. Knox handed him. John walked beside him while Mrs. Knox and Philip followed behind, the kid looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

As John and Alex worked on the forms in the kitchen with Mrs. Knox, Philip sat stiffly on the couch in the open concept living room, well in sight of the adults but far enough away to let them sign their papers in peace and out of hearing range. He looked around at the house in a way that wasn’t overly discreet, clearly taking in his surroundings and sizing up the place. He had a garbage bag balled up in his fist, clenched tightly as if he was afraid of losing it. John knew with an aching heart that it likely held all the worldly possessions he owned that weren’t the clothes on his back. 

Once the papers were signed and the files handed over, Mrs. Knox sighed as she collected the official forms, attempting a smile at Alex from across the kitchen table but the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “Thank you again for taking in Philip with such short notice,” she said, sounding legitimately grateful. She tucked the forms into her bag, leaving the large folder from before lying on the table between the three of them. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“Of course. It was no problem, really,” John said, sitting next to Alex and opposite Mrs. Knox, so that he and his husband faced off with the social worker. “We’re looking forward to having him.”

Mrs. Knox sighed again, her smile fading as she leaned forward, towards John and Alex. “Listen, I don’t mean to scare you, but both of you have a right to know what we’re handling here,” she said, quietly enough that Philip wouldn’t be able to hear her from the other room. She reached for the file in front of her, flipping it open with a slow, careful moment. “You see, Philip is… spirited.”

“Spirited,” Alex echoed, eyebrows lowering fractionally. 

“Yes. The main reason your home was such an optimal placement for Philip is because you have no other foster children or children of your own. You see, Philip was removed from his foster family after being with them for nearly a year just a few months ago, after starting a fight with one of the other boys in the home.” She flipped through the papers within the file as she spoke, showing Alex and John the records of everything she was explaining. “He was then placed with the family he’s just been removed from. The last home was evacuated and the foster parents arrested after it came to our attention that one of the other children in the home was being abused.” She took off her glasses as she closed the folder again, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes before looking in Philip’s direction, her mouth a tight line of concern. “He shouldn’t be any problem to you, especially for the short amount of time you’ll have him for, but we have to make sure you knew the risks.”

John found his gaze cutting to Philip as well, just able to see the top of his curls peeking out over the top of the couch from where he was sitting. Somehow, someway, the information only made John want the boy more. A desperate, frantic kind of want that made him ache to tuck the boy away from the rest of the world and keep him safe, safer than he’d ever been in the past. 

Evidently, Alex felt the same, if the determined edge his gaze had taken on was anything to go off of. He folded his hands on the kitchen table, glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose and mouth a thin, stubborn line. “That changes nothing,” he said firmly, as if nothing in this world could alter his mindset about the boy sitting in their living room, awaiting his fate like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

John fell in love with the man beside him all over again.

***

Mrs. Knox had to leave quickly, and the moment she closed the door behind her, it was suddenly and quite abruptly just the three of them. There was no one left to buffer the edges and smoothen the transition of Philip coming into their home. Now, Philip was just _here,_ and they had to figure out what came next all on their own. 

John turned to face Philip, who was standing beside them in the foyer with his garbage bag still firmly in his hand and a set expression on his face. He stood as if ready for battle, mouth pressed closed and eyes hard. 

Offering a smile, John let his hands hang casually in his pockets in a casual stance, as welcoming and non-threatening as he could be. “Well, Philip, we have food if you’re hungry, and a TV if you want to hang out down here for a while, and a bedroom set up upstairs if you just want to head to sleep. It is pretty late, after all, and it sure sounds like you’ve had a long day, but I’ll leave it up to you, bud.”

“I’m going to bed,” Philip decided almost immediately, already turning towards the staircase with his head down and threadbare coat still securely over his shoulders. 

“Wait, hold up a second.” Throwing a somewhat unsure glance towards Alex, John stopped Philip before he could get a few steps down the hall. The boy turned around, irritated eyes daring John to continue. “I’ll come with you, point out where the bathroom is and everything. We can definitely get you more clothes of your own tomorrow, but for now, the dresser in your bedroom is stocked with some of Alex’s old stuff that should fit you, if you need it-”

“I can find everything myself,” Philip interrupted, voice hoarse and firm as he shrugged John off. His eyes were steadfast when they flickered up to meet John’s, warning him against questioning his independence. “I can handle myself.”

The kid’s rough tone and harsh words were surprising but expected, if the resigned yet familiarized way Alex was sighing behind John was anything to go off of. In response, John smiled again, a little more forced this time, but pleasant and not engaging with Philip’s sharp mannerisms. It was just the first night. They would figure out the details of this tomorrow. “That’s fine,” he said. “The kitchen is always open to you if you get hungry later on, and our bedroom is right down the hall from yours if you need anything.”

“I won’t,” Philip said, and damn, that kid could hold eye contact like no one John had ever seen before, his hazel gaze somehow icy and searing all at once as he stared John down.

“Alright,” John returned, his voice soft. “That’s fine.”

Nodding once choppily, as if confirming something to himself, Philip turned and walked away, climbing the stairs and turning the corner into the upstairs hall with his garbage back still swinging in his grip.

John looked at Alex, bottom lip caught between his teeth. The foyer was dark save for the few lights turned on, casting heavy shadows over the men, now alone in the downstairs. “This might be a little harder than we thought,” John said softly. 

Alex sighed, pressing his lips together and shrugging, his hands in his pockets. “Knox did warn us that he’s spirited,” he pointed out, not sounding discouraged if a little perplexed.

John sighed as well, looking in the direction of Philip’s disappearance and settling a hand on his hip. Somehow, he already knew that Philip really wasn’t a bad kid. Something about the way he held himself, or the forced hardness in his eyes, or the softness in his gestures even as he tried to disguise it behind sharp movements and rough words. Philip wasn’t a bad kid, not at all. 

What worried John was why Philip felt that he had to hide behind the bad kid persona, and how in the world they were going to succeed in proving to him that he was nothing but safe here.

“Well,” John finally said, shaking his head slightly, “she definitely wasn’t wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos I’ve gotten so far on here, and feel free to keep them coming. Feedback is my lifeblood.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and have a great day :)


End file.
